Death Walks In Her Shadow
by Stephen Greenwood
Summary: Scully's thoughts on life and death and everything in between.


**DEATH WALKS IN HER SHADOW  
By Stephen Greenwood**

**Rating: PG-13  
Keywords: Mulder/Scully romance  
Spoilers: Set post-IWTB, so anything and everything, really  
Disclaimer: I'm no closer to owning them now than I was fifteen years ago**

**Thanks to Tigerlily Brown for the quick and helpful beta**

**Summary: Scully's thoughts on life and death and everything in between**

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She knows that time is Death, that Death hides in clocks. She feels it with every heartbeat, each ba-dum lost like a whisper in the wind, never to return. The tick-tock of a second hand forces her to acknowledge that another minute, another hour, another day has gone by, one that she will never be able to live again. Those minutes that have passed are gone; they live only in the past, in memory, mostly, but some survive on paper or in a neatly typed document if she feels them significant enough to record, to hold on to.

When she thought her cancer was going to kill her, she took to scribbling down what words she could as a way of apology, of comfort to him so he would have something to cling to once she was gone. It was a comfort to her, too, for the pages spoke the words her mouth could not, and she felt lighter for having expelled them, even though she knew he would bear the brunt of the weight for her.

She has known Death all her life, the way in which one would know a second cousin twice-removed: with distant, clinical detachment, rarely letting her emotions show at a scene of such sadness. She knows the moment when all that changed, can pinpoint it with startling accuracy though years have passed by in a whirlwind of aliens, ghosts and mutants. To lose her father and her sister in so short a time was, and still is, utterly devastating, and Death grew closer in proximity. She was haunted by the notion that she would be next, in some Agatha Christie 'And Then There Were None' way, and she nearly was, in that dark time when a hospital was a deathbed disguised as her home away from home and her best friends came in the form of a battery of pills and drips. Death was a fickle friend who lived with her, lived inside her, a bomb waiting to go off, and even though Mulder got there in time and diffused it, sometimes she still thinks she can feel the cold chill of Death breathing down her neck.

There may be a time when those invading cells, those murderous cells, return to finish the job. She thanks God each and every day for the life she leads, even if she used to spend her time chasing deadbeat leads that amounted to nothing; she thanks Him for the chip in her neck, for the technology that is somehow keeping her alive. But most of all she thanks God for her partner, for the man who refused to give up when all hope she had was frail and faded like a sunbleached photograph. Mulder, the only person who trusted her to come back alive when she was abducted, the only person who hadn't signed the death certificate ahead of time. Stubborn, perhaps, and rooted in the fear of yet another personal loss, but conclusively he was right and he brought her back on the strength of his faith.

They have both been close to their demise more times than either can remember, and it is only by a well-placed bullet or well-timed arrival that they have survived. It wasn't part of the job description but it went with the work, and for nine years she lived and breathed Death in the mother of all ironies

because she needed answers just as much as he did. Times were hard but she looks back on them fondly; without them, she wouldn't be here, in this moment, which is just where she needs to be.

Still, she is glad the FBI is behind them, if only for a little while. Agents Whitney and Drummy brought Death right to their door after a six-year absence, one that, for all she cared, could have dragged on a decade or two longer. She thinks they deserve a period of happiness after all that has befallen them. They need something untainted, something real and pure and honest, something to wash away the dread of impending doom that seems to hover like a raincloud over wherever they reside like some sick practical joke.

She knows it has been hard for Mulder, being cooped up in the house all day while she gets to play doctor in the outside world, and she even understands why he did what he did. It doesn't make it any easier to accept. She is aware of her own mortality while she thinks he believes himself invincible. Rising from the dead might have that effect. Seeing him about to die once again, all thanks to the FBI, was nearly her undoing. She feels she has been patient, has seen enough over the years to warrant caution and heed; she took 'trust no one' to heart at his insistence. She wishes he would look before he leaps, but to do so would be to take away the essence of Mulder. She will have to settle for stitching him up all over again.

Minor wounds she can deal with. His death, she cannot. She has come too far, invested too much for him to be lost to her now, and she cannot imagine coming home to somebody else. He has risked his life for her on more than one occasion and to see him fall now, when they finally have a place they can call a home, would be unbearable.

The thought is not worth thinking about, she decides, not at three in the morning when practically any shadow is enough to be scared of. She has confronted worse, has stared Death in the face and seen a thousand empty eyes look back. She has stood side by side with the Devil, has shaken his hand and taken his business card but has still come out alive. She has seen walking evil, has been touched by that coldness, but has walked away and said 'no thanks'. She thinks that is something to be proud of, at least, a lifetime of achievements that do not come without a hefty price tag. She would cash it all in at a moment's notice if she could be with Mulder, happily, for years to come.

But it is not that simple. She is painfully aware of the effort it takes to make a relationship work; painfully aware of how easily it can be ruined, reduced to nothing but veiled threats and harsh words. They came too close to losing everything and it is only on the promise of a brighter future that she stays. That and the fact that she loves him with all her being and cannot bear to be parted from him.

In life or in death.

She rolls over to face him, smiling softly in the dim glow of the early morning and the snow outside. He sleeps so peacefully now; with no monsters to invade his rest, there are no nightmares. Lines mar his face but she finds them on her own skin too. She trails a finger down his cheek, across his lips, and jumps slightly when his hand shoots up to grab her digit playfully. Opening one eye, he cracks her a sleepy smile and yawns.

"What are you doing up?"

"I couldn't sleep. I was thinking."

"About what?"

"Life and death and everything in between," she says. "Nothing too deep." He laughs lightly and releases her finger.

"I can see that. Come on, Scully, let's get some sleep," he urges, and pulls her gently to rest her head on his shoulder. "There's plenty of time for that in the morning."

"Mmm, okay," she mumbles, settling comfortably in his embrace. She feels him kiss the top of her head, her eyes already beginning to close. Her hand makes its way to the left side of his chest, right over his heart, and she is all the better for sensing the strong beats under the pads of her fingers.

She keeps it there all night.

Just in case.

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_"Everyone knows that time is Death, that Death hides in clocks. Imposing another time powered by the Clock of the Imagination, however, can refuse his law. Here, freed of the Grim Reaper's scythe, we learn that pain is knowledge and all knowledge pain."_

Federico Fellini


End file.
